


Obsession of a Killer

by AnxiousDeceit



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Violence, Dead People, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Rated For Violence, Serial Killer Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Slow Burn, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxiousDeceit/pseuds/AnxiousDeceit
Summary: For months now, George has been the obsession of a deranged serial killer. Every few days he finds 'gifts' in the form of bodies in his home and bloodied messages on the wall. To get away from this, George decides to move to Florida.What will George do when the killer follows his obsession?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 174
Kudos: 629





	1. A New Start

Rain drops splattered against the taxi’s windscreen as George scanned his eyes across the American Newspaper from the back seat. 

“ _Florida Man attacks nephew over uncooked noodles._ ” The headline read.

George laughed. It seemed the most newsworthy thing in Florida was just another Florida Man incident; he could almost sigh with relief. 

George could hardly remember a time where the newspapers he held weren’t covered in drawings of a half-masked murderer or filled with articles detailing the police’s efforts in catching him. 

But he’d left those Newspapers, just as he’d left his life, in England. Hopefully it, no _he_ , wouldn’t come with him. 

“People here get crazier everyday, don’t they?” A man with a distinctly New York accent spoke from the driver's seat.

George whipped his head up to look at the driver through the drivers mirror, “Uh, yeah.” He responded nervously.

“What’s it today then? ‘Florida Man bites off neighbors' ear because he wouldn’t turn his music down?’” The driver laughed, “Or is it something like, ‘Florida man proposes to pufferfish because his girlfriend rejected him’?”

George allowed his face to pull into a smile, “Nah, you were closer on the first one.”

Mirth enters the drivers eyes, “Really? Let’s hear it then.”

George laughs, reciting the headline he’d just seen to the man before him. 

“Really? That’s not the craziest one I've read. You should have seen last week's headline: ‘Florida Man flashes buttocks at IHOP after impersonating a police officer to get free food.’” The driver laughs, “Now I don’t know what he was thinking- but that's good old Florida Man for you.”

George winces at the obscenity but laughs nonetheless.

“So, what brings a Brit like you all the way out to Florida? I thought we’d have scared you all off by now.” He jokes.

“Oh,” George thinks for a moment, “I guess I just needed a change of pace?” He winced, it wasn’t entirely untrue- he _did_ want a change of pace from being stalked by a deranged murderer 24/7. 

“How about you?” George changed the subject, “I can tell from your accent you’re not exactly from around here either.”

The driver looked surprised, “Me? Same as you I guess. New York got a bit crowded for my liking so I thought I’d try the Sunshine State.”

George nodded, knowing full well that they did not in fact share the same reasons for moving to Florida.

“It’s a lot warmer down here though. I’m sure you can feel it being from England and all.” George hummed his agreement to the driver.

“Hey-” George started, “How far are we from getting to the apartments?”

The driver glanced back through the mirror, “Not too long now. You might want to put your hood up when you get out though- it’s raining cats and dogs out there!”

George didn’t even need to spare a glance at the window to know the driver was right; the heavy impact of the rain on the taxi’s roof did that for him.

“Yeah.” George laughed awkwardly.

The driver didn’t reply, instead leaving him in a comfortable silence for the rest of the journey to think.

What really brought him to Florida of all places? Oh, only a crazy serial killer who kept leaving messages painted in blood across his old home’s walls stating his undying love and affection for him.

‘I love you.’ George shuddered at the memory of the most common phrase he had found in dripping red blood on his walls from the mysterious killer, usually followed by ‘Just say it back.’ and poorly drawn smiley face.

George had of course never said it back. He wouldn’t know how even if he wanted to. What was he supposed to do? Buy a can of red paint from his nearest home depot and paint a heart on his roof? No thank you, his old landlords would have had a fit. 

A particular bump in the road almost sent the container of Chinese food George had resting beside him tumbling to the car’s floor but he caught it just in time. He hadn’t had time to eat a proper lunch before his last minute flight- he thought it was better safe than sorry not to book the tickets in advance just in case his incredibly obsessive stalker-murder found out and booked the seat right next to him. That would have been a nightmare. 

The taxi slowly rolled to a stop beside a tall beige colored building. As George looked up he could see water flowing in streams through the small gaps between the glass and floor of the balconies. 

The driver suddenly leaned back, “That’ll be $40, thanks.” He said unceremoniously.

George fumbled around his back pocket for a moment before pulling out a bundle of nearly identical paper green bills- how did Americans tell these things apart?- and handed the driver what he assumed to be the exact amount.

While the driver was counting up the numerous $1 and $5 bills George had handed him, George gathered his belongings: A singular suitcase; his laptop bag; his phone and headphones; and the slightly cold box of Chinese food. He huddled them close to his body before pulling the hood of his blue jacket over his head and preparing to step out into the rain.

“Have a great day, sir.” The taxi driver finally said before driving away, leaving George standing in the rain. 

“Oh shit.” George cursed as the rain battered hard against his back. He just hoped the water wouldn’t leak through his laptop bag and ruin his computer. 

He broke out into a run to the apartment buildings door and shook himself off as best as he could to get the water off him once he was inside. 

George had already sorted out his living arrangements earlier and had already received the key to his apartment, so with a quick pat on his pocket to make sure it was still there, he set off towards the apartment stairs, completely bypassing the elevators with his suitcase in tow.

Don’t get him wrong, he knew lugging a suitcase up countless flights of stairs would be more work than what it's worth, but he wasn’t particularly fond of elevators after an incident when he was younger involving a particular elevator in a shopping mall trapping him and his mother inside for what felt like hours but was really only a few minutes. So, with a heavy heart and suitcase, he began the journey to the 6th floor of the building. 

Dread began to fill his stomach with every clack of the suitcases wheels on the steps. It was eerily quiet, but far too loud at the same time. He could hear the rain hit the building as if they were bullets- but he couldn’t hear the sound of any other person other than himself. There was no shuffling of furniture or loud stomps from the floor above him. It was dead quiet.

The thought caused his heart to sink as he finally reached the 6th floor, a little out of breath. Didn’t he have a neighbor on this floor? Why couldn’t he hear them?

With cautious movements, George slowly pushed the stairwell door open and stepped through. He knew that if he went left from here he would come across his neighbors door on the right, and his own a little further down on the left.

He could see his new neighbors door from here, the little hallway light above it flickered ominously. 

George slowly started to move towards it, his suitcase rolling across the tiled floor the only thing he could hear other than the rain. It was getting closer, and he could see even in the dim light that the door was definitely ajar. He sucked in a breath. Maybe that was just something his neighbor did? He thought, though he could almost feel that he was wrong. 

George turned his eyes away from the open door and towards what was presumably his own. He approached it slowly, not daring to believe what was happening. It was also slightly open. 

Someone had been here.

With shaking hands, George pushed the door open fully, realizing in fear that the lock on the side of his door was broken. It swung open with a loud creak. 

George didn’t even need to step into the room to see it- the body. It was just like all the others that had been left for him to find, if not slightly more gruesome. 

It lay in the living room, in full view of the doorway in a large puddle of blood. The blood had already soaked into the carpet, but he couldn’t tell how long it had been lying there. 

George cautiously approached the body, hoping in vain that maybe- _maybe_ this wasn’t the work of the murderer he had gotten so used to. But the Glasgow smile carved into the sides of the victims face proved otherwise. It really was him. It really was The Smiley-Faced killer.

With a small pause in his step, George strolled past the body and into the kitchen, uncaring as to whether or not the body could be seen by any poor passerby to his room. He ditched his stuff on or by the living room couch and set his box of Chinese food on the kitchen counter. That’s when he finally noticed the bloodied message dripping from the walls across him. 

‘ _Running away?_ ’ It accused him.

George set his jaw. This couldn’t be happening- he had just got here. But it seemed just like every time before- the killer was a one step in front of him. 

George turned from the message defiantly, instead picking up the wooden chopsticks that came with his food. He wouldn’t let this stop him from enjoying his lunch.

His eyes drifted back to the body as he took his first bite of food. _Crunch_ , he saw the bone fragments around the victims crushed left hand. _Slurp_ , he eyed the blood stained cut across the victims neck. _Scrape_ , his chopsticks hit the bottom of his now empty box. 

George sighed. There was no use in procrastinating anymore. With a nauseous feeling in his stomach, he dialed 911.


	2. You're here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For months now, George has been the obsession of a deranged serial killer. Every few days he finds 'gifts' in the form of bodies in his home and bloodied messages on the wall. To get away from this, George decides to move to Florida.
> 
> What will George do when the killer follows his obsession?

“So,” The Officer seated in front of George started, “Let me get this straight. You’re new here- just bought a new apartment- and you happened to find a body mutilated on the floor of your living room in a way that only a serial killer from Brighton- where you’re originally from- tends to leave his victims…” He trailed off, “Do you see where I’m having issues believing you here?”

George tugged on the handcuffs that bound him to the interrogation table in frustration, “I didn’t do it! How many times do I have to say this?”

“Until it starts sounding like the truth.”

George sighed as he leaned back in his hard plastic chair. When he had called the police an hour ago, he didn’t expect it to end with himself being led away in chains. 

“What about my front door? The lock was broken off; someone else was there!”

The officer smirked, “Funny you mention that- because I think, and listen closely…” He leaned in, “You did that. Your type thinks you’re so smart and clever- thinks that if you break a lock here and there you can make your own crime scene look like a break in.” He accused; George was speechless. 

“Let’s say you panicked. Your neighbor came over to visit and you just couldn’t resist. You gutted him like a fish, George.” He accused. 

“No…”

“You carved a smile on his face with the knife from your own kitchen.”

“No…”

“You got too confident, George!” He shouted, “I bet you don’t even know who he was, do you? You didn’t even ask for his name before you killed him.”

“NO!” George slammed his hands on the table before him.

Silence followed his outburst; the officer shuffled his papers and stood.

“His name was BadBoyHalo.” The officer spoke slowly, leaning on the table, “He was a baker; worked at the local bakery ‘round the corner from your apartments- and he made damn good muffins.”

George could tell what the officer was trying to do; he was trying to make him feel guilty- and it was working.

“I don’t know what to say.” He admitted.

The officer nodded and cleared his throat, “How about that message on the wall then, it seemed pretty personal, don’t you think?”

George winced, “Look, Officer…” He trailed off.

“Sapnap.” The Officer spoke.

“Officer Sapnap, I didn’t write that message.”

“Then who did?”

“ _He did._ ”

“Who’s he?”

“The Smiley-Faced Killer.”

The officer shifted, “Isn’t that you?”

“No- please-” George let out a breath, “It’s not me.”

“Then let’s talk about something else.” The officer sat back down and pulled his chair in close to George. “You know we found an empty box of Chinese takeout in your garbage can, right?”

George shifted uncomfortably. 

The officer continued, “You make it sound as if you weren’t there long enough to even blink before you found the body- not eat a whole goddam meal.”

George let out a sigh, muttering under his breath, “IateitafterIfoundthebody…” 

“What was that?” The officer questioned.

“I ate it _after_ I found the body.” 

Officer Sapnap whistled lowly, “Not a lot of people could stomach something like that. Makes me think you’re used to this.”

“I am.”

“You are?”

“I am.” George was getting fed up with this two word exchange, “He always leaves me with the body; he always leaves me with a message.” He took a breath, “He always says ‘I love you’!”

The officer fixed him with a deadpan expression, “Why didn’t you tell police this sooner?” It was obvious that he didn’t believe George’s story.

“I was too afraid. I cleaned the blood off my walls and moved the bodies before they could be found.”

“What made you change your routine this time? Why did you call us?” Officer Sapnap sniffed.

“I just want it to stop.” George admitted, lowering his head as far into his hands as the handcuffs allowed, “I _need him_ to stop.”

The officer allowed him to wallow in his own misery for a moment before continuing, “You said he was in love with you?”

George only laughed in response, “I know right? Why doesn’t he get me chocolates or bring me flowers like a normal person.”

“No, no. What I mean is- Why are you still alive?”

“W-what?” George stuttered.

“If he’s so obsessed with you, why hasn’t he taken you yet? That’s usually how a situation like this pans out.” He admitted.

“I don’t- I don't know.” George stuttered out, but then he realized, “He needs me to say it back.”

The officer furrowed his eyebrows, “Say what back?”

“He needs me to tell him I love him.” 

Officer Sapnap stared at him oddly for a moment before sighing, “Alright then.”

He stood, making his way to the previously locked door at the side of the room of which two armed police officers suddenly entered.

George’s face fell, “Please…” he begged. 

The officer sighed, “These two officers will escort you to your cell for the night. We can legally hold you for 48 hours before we press any charges- but with the evidence against you- I wouldn’t exactly be hopeful for an early release.”

With an uncomfortably tight grip on his arms, the two new officers dragged George to his new cell and threw him uncaringly inside.

The room was lonely and dark; the small window viewing the outside world held tiny compact bars in the form of a grate; barely allowing any of the days fading light to seep through.

George took a seat on the matressless prison bed, wincing in discomfort. How was anyone supposed to sleep on those things without getting back problems for the rest of their lives?

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” An unfamiliar voice suddenly echoed from the other side of the room, “I should have expected it- but I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.” 

“What- who’s...” George trailed off as he saw the half masked face smirk down at him. 

“Hi.” The Smiley-Faced killer said. “Miss me?”

“You… You’re-”

“Really handsome? Smart? Intelligent?” The psychotic killer in front of George interrupted.

“You’re here.” George ignored him, “How are you here- No, _why_ are you here?”

“Aw Georgie~” The half-masked man starts, “The real question is- why are you here?” He smirks.

George was speechless. 

“Are those chains around your wrists?” He asks smugly, “Looks like you’re going to need little ol’ me to help get you out.” He seems to consider something, “Although… you do look rather good in them~”

“What?” George ignored the deranged psychopath, “You can’t just break me out! That’s- that’s against the law!”

“The law?” The killer scoffed, “The law has never stopped me before.” He leaned back theatrically, “‘Oh Dream, you can’t just stab someone!’” He turned the other way, “‘You’re not supposed to use an axe like that, Dream!’” He spat.

George stepped back in fear and pity entered the killers- no, Dream’s eyes.

“You know I love you, George.” He said, getting uncomfortably close to the bars of George’s cell.

George remained silent, instead finally assessing the man who had been haunting his nightmares for months- and now he knew his name. Dream. 

Dream was tall, had dirty blonde hair, and although you couldn't see the top part of his face due to an unsettling white smiley-face mask, George could still see his strong jawline and dimples.

Dream took his prolonged silence as his cue to continue, “Only I can protect you, George.” His voice was strangely alluring, “These people- they want to lock you away from me- they want to kill you. Do you want to die?” A deranged look entered his eyes as he tilted his head at George.

“N-no.” George stuttered out.

Dream smiled, “Then you’ll come with me.”

“No.” George repeated firmly, “I won’t leave with you.”

Dream’s face turned emotionless as he straightened his posture. “They’ve already arrested you,” his grip tightened on the bars of George’s cell, “They’re trying to take you away from me. Don’t you see? You’ll go down for my crimes… I can’t let you die for me.”

George winced, “I-” He was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching his cell.

“George,” Dream addressed him quickly before reaching down with a strange bar-like tool to fiddle with the cell door lock. “Please,” The cell door clicked open and the footsteps grew louder. “Come with me.”

George could hear the officer's voices now.

“I-” 

“Now George.” Dream offered his hand.

Fuck it. “Okay.” George slipped his hand into Dream's.

Dream smirked, and together, they ran.


	3. Hoodie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For months now, George has been the obsession of a deranged serial killer. Every few days he finds 'gifts' in the form of bodies in his home and bloodied messages on the wall. To get away from this, George decides to move to Florida.
> 
> What will George do when the killer follows his obsession?

George didn’t know how they got out. He just remembered closing his eyes, the sensation of wind rushing past his face and a warm hand in his. Then suddenly, they were outside, running from the shouts of enraged police and confused bystanders. George had never felt more alive.

Before he could even blink twice, George was quickly tugged by Dream into a dark side street; their pursuers ran straight past.

Dream barely allowed himself a moment to catch his breath before he burst into laughter. “Did you see that?” He asked, grabbing George in a possessive hug, “We totally just lost them!”

“But Dream, they saw you.” George grimly reminded.

Dream scoffed, “I have a mask, remember?” He said, tapping the side of it with his pointer finger for good measure. 

“But they would’ve seen you on the cameras!”

Dream pulled away from George, “Well they wouldn’t’ve seen much.” He finished firmly.

George shivered, causing Dream to pause.

“You’re cold.” Dream stated, eyebrows furrowed.

“No, I-” 

Dream started to take his hoodie off.

“Wait Dream- no you don’t need to-” But Dream had already extended his hand to offer his offensively bright… _yellow_ colored hoodie?

“You’re cold.” Dream started again, “Put it on.”

George slowly took the proffered hoodie, examining it with a critical eye.

The fabric looked piss yellow to George, but he knew it’s actual color could range anywhere on the spectrum from the ugly yellow he currently saw to Neon green. 

After a look of impatience from Dream, George quickly slips the large hoodie over his head. It’s softer than expected, and way, way too big. The oversized sleeves covered his fingertips and the end of the hoodie fell just above his knees. George knew he looked ridiculous. 

George glanced at Dream only to find the taller man blushing- frozen in place like a deer in headlights.

“Dream…?” He asked cautiously, pinching the edge of his borrowed hoodie in his fingers.

“George- um…” Dream looked away. “You look, you look-”

“Like a child?” George offered amusedly. 

“No-” Dream breathed out, “You look _good_.” An almost predatory look entered Dream’s eyes.

George didn’t know if he should feel scared, but he strangely felt… content? 

George cast his eyes back on Dreams figure; the pale moonlight gleamed off the edges of his white smiley face mask- illuminating it. He looked almost ethereal.

Now that Dream wasn’t wearing his hoodie, George could see his loose grey t-shirt and rather muscular arms. Arms of which could strangle him at any moment.

Immediately, George snapped himself out of his daze, “Where will we go?” George questioned. “We can’t stay in this alley forever.” 

Dream smirked, and with two long strides, he walked to the back of the alley towards a weird shape covered by a dirty white sheet.

“Dream?” George asked bemusedly.

Dream spared George a fond glance before he ripped the sheet away, revealing a sleek black motorbike sitting underneath.

“Get on.” Dream commanded.

George was shocked he hadn’t noticed the bike before, but moved to comply anyway.

“Where are we going?” George repeated himself, swinging his leg over the bike behind Dream.

“A place where I can protect you.”

Dream twisted the bikes handle, propelling them out of the alleyway. “Hold on!” He shouted and George immediately wrapped his hands around his torso, blushing all the while.

He was clinging to a killer. He was clinging to a killer while they rode a motorbike to escape from the police. George could barely wrap his head around the absurdity. 

“You know this is crazy, right?!” George shouted against the opposing wind.

“What?!” Dream responded.

“This is crazy!” George repeated louder.

Dream smiled “I know!”

With what seemed like scarily practiced ease, Dream tore through the back alleys and side streets of the city without further police interference. 

By the time Dream had finally slowed the bike, the sun was just beginning to rise and George was about ready to pass out from the exhaustion of the day.

The house they had stopped in front of was surprisingly nice, and although the lawn was overgrown, and the windows were dirty, the place still held a strange homey vibe. The only off putting thing seemed to be the heavily padlocked cellar door at the side of the house and George already knew he would do whatever it took to stay away from there.

Now that he thought about it, George really hadn’t had the time to think about his spur of the moment decision to escape with a serial killer, but now that the thrill of it all was gone, George could feel the hint of regret and guilt creeping in.

Before he could make a possibly deadly decision, George felt Dream’s hand firmly grip his own in a subtle warning and they slipped off the motorbike. 

“Where is this place?” George questioned meekly, letting Dream drag him over to the front door.

Dream’s hand paused over the door knob, hesitating, “This is where I grew up.” 

The door swung open and Dream let go of George’s hand.

George felt his hand drop to his side in shock. He grew up here? George stifled a laugh at the absurdity. Of all the places George could have gone to to escape Dream, he basically chose the killers backyard.

Somehow, George had made the worst (or was it the best?) decision possible.

As he finally stepped through the door, George felt a humid breeze hit him in the face. It was if the house hadn’t had a window or door open in years with how hot and stuffy it was- and truth be told, that statement probably wasn’t far from being correct.

George let his fingers grip the bottom of his borrowed hoodie, intent on slipping it off to mitigate the heat, but he was stopped by hand gripping his wrist.

“Did I say you could take that off?” Dream questioned dangerously.

George shuddered but shook his head.

“Then keep it on, George.” 

An awkward silence filled the room before George nodded, releasing his grip on the hoodie. Dream smiled and led him over to a navy blue couch in the living room.

“Stay there.” He ordered, “I’ll be right back.”

George did as he was told, remaining rooted to his seat as Dream walked over to the kitchen. What was going to happen now? What was Dream going to do now that he finally had George in his possession? George shuddered. He didn’t like his chances here very much, but it was definitely too late to back out now.

“Here,” Dream suddenly spoke from behind him- holding two steaming cups, “I made sure it was your favorite.”

With shaky hands, George accepted the cup from Dream before examining its steaming contents.

Ah. Tea. Earl Grey by the smell of it. Dream was right, it was his favorite- but how very stereotypical of him. If he thinks that just because he was British that a cup of tea would suddenly make him happy- George took a sip. 

It was deliciously familiar. It reminded him of the packets he kept back in his cupboard in Brighton. “How did you make this?” George questioned, desperate to know if there really was tea this good in America.

Dream shifted a little uncomfortably, “I guess you could say… It’s a taste of home?”

George paused in the middle of his next sip, “Did you… take the packets from my old apartment?”

Dream shrugged, “Maybe I did.”

“That's really creepy.”

“But you like it don't you? You like the tea.”

“Well yeah but-”

“Then it was worth it.”

George didn’t argue, taking one final sip of his tea before realizing in horror that his cup was empty. He let out a sad sigh; Dream noticed immediately

“Here, let me get that.” He said, taking the cup and placing it in the kitchen sink.

He was back at George’s side in an instant, “How about we go to bed? I’ll watch over you while you sleep, you must be tired.” He offered his hand expectantly.

George decided to ignore how stalkerish the statement sounded (because what can you expect from an actual stalker and serial killer?) and once again accepted Dream’s hand. It seemed as if the still masked man couldn’t go more than a minute without some sort of insurance that George was still with him, or in his case- holding his hand.

“Why do you still wear that?” George decided to ask as they approached what he assumed was the bedroom.

Dream paused, “I don’t know,” he started, “I guess it’s habit? You might not like who I am under the mask.”

George was surprised at the sympathy he felt pooling in his chest, “Oh... Dream-”

But he was interrupted by Dream suddenly opening the bedroom door and stepping through.

Was he really that self-conscious of what he looked like? Did he have a reason? Was he horribly scarred or was he just incredibly ugly. George found it extremely hard to believe it could be the last one.

As George looked at the partially open door in front of him, he felt a strong sense of Déjà vu. Except this time, he knew the killer was behind the door. He pushed it open, expecting a creak, but it opened smoothly- silently.  
George cast his eyes around the room, noting the overwhelming amount of what he assumed was yellow décor. It looked hideous to him. 

“What’s with all the yellow?” He ventured to ask.

Dream looked at him as if he were crazy before a look of realization appeared on his face, “Oh right,” He laughed, “You’re colorblind.”

George blushed heavily, “How do you-” Wait. Stalker-Serial killer. Right. “Never mind.”

Dream only snickered, “So I bet my whole room looks like the sun threw up.” He paused, “It’s actually green, just so you know.”

“I-” That's when George noticed, “Wait- only one bed?”

Dream laughed, “What? Are you afraid to share? I promise I won’t do anything to you.”

George blushed and turned away, “I could just sleep on the couch?”

Dream’s face turned serious, “George, I would never do anything to hurt you. Not anything, do you understand that?”

“Yes,” George partially lies. He knew Dream had the ability to kill him at any moment, but would he?

“Good.” Dream suddenly turned to a small set of drawers and pulled out a set of fresh clothes. He offered them to George with a shy smile, “They’re a little big, but they’ll be more comfortable than what you’re wearing.”

George accepted the clothes hesitantly, but didn’t put them on immediately, “Could you… turn away?” He said when he noticed Dream still eyeing him with an expectant look.

Dream frowned but acquiesced.

Quickly, in case Dream changed his mind and decided he did want to watch him, George changed his clothing. The track pants that were given to him were a little loose, but that wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with a simple tightening of the draw string- it was the shirt that was the problem. The collar was so wide that it practically fell off his shoulder with any small movement. George did not feel like being more exposed than he had to be around Dream.

With a contemplative glance at the hoodie Dream had given him, George slipped it back over his head. Sure, it would probably be too warm, but at least it covered his shoulders. 

“You can look now.” George called shyly.

At first, Dream seemed to be surprised by the fact George was wearing the hoodie, but a pleased smile soon over took his expression.

“Good boy.” He praised before rolling into bed. “Don’t be shy,” He said, playfully patting the spot beside him, “I don’t bite.”

George could practically hear the smirk in his voice at that, so with careful hesitance, he lay down on the bed beside Dream only to be immediately pulled flush against his chest.

He’s being spooned. He’s being _spooned_.

Any attempt at a struggle only resulted in Dreams grip getting tighter.

“You know we’re going to have to be careful now.” Dream stated obviously. “If you go outside, if you contact anyone- they’ll find you and take you away again.” His grip on George’s chest impossibly tightened, “Only I can provide for you. Only I can take care of you. Only I can know where you are.”

Dream’s voice turned stern, “Do you understand?”

George struggles to nod his head.

“Good,” Dream loosened his grip, allowing George to breathe again, “I love you, George.”

George shifted uncomfortably.

Dream scowled before repeating himself slowly, “I _love you_ , George.” He said dangerously, and when George yet again didn’t respond, his voice went deeper, “Say it back.”

A shudder traveled up George’s spine.

“Say. It. _Back_.” 

George bit his lip enough to draw blood, “I love you too.”

The tension immediately left the room as Dream sighed happily, “Thank you, George.” And somehow, now that Dream was calm once more, George felt safer.

He felt safe in the arms of a serial killer- now wasn’t that an oxymoron. Despite his best efforts to make himself worry more about this situation, George slowly found himself slipping out of consciousness.

“ _Goodnight George_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like we're going to need a fourth chapter aren't we?


	4. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For months now, George has been the obsession of a deranged serial killer. Every few days he finds 'gifts' in the form of bodies in his home and bloodied messages on the wall. To get away from this, George decides to move to Florida.
> 
> What will George do when the killer follows his obsession?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has officially become an "I don't know when this is going to end," piece. I guess that means more chapters for you so yay?

“Oh George~” A quiet voice roused the sleeping man from his slumber. 

“Wake up,” The voice was deep yet soft. “I have something for you~”

George’s eyes fluttered open as the statement washed over him, taking in the form of Dream hovering over him. 

“There you are,” Dream smiled, “I got you breakfast.”

George pulled himself up in confusion, how would Dream have- 

The bed was cold beside him and the sheets were unrumpled. Dream had obviously been gone for a while.

George blushed, “Thanks.” He said carefully.

He didn’t even move from his seated position on the bed before a warm blueberry chocolate chip muffin was unceremoniously placed on his lap.

“I hope you like it. I know you used to enjoy these back in England but I wasn’t sure if it would be the same. Apparently a worker there used to make some ‘damn good muffins’ or so I'm told. These were his last of his batch though. They said he couldn’t make any more- I wonder what happened.”

A look in Dream’s eye told George he knew exactly what happened.

George hesitantly bit into the side of the muffin before freezing and taking another massive bite. It was so warm and buttery. The blueberries exploded with flavour across his tongue and the chocolate melted in his mouth. It was delicious.

Dream smirked at his expression of delight, seemingly proud of providing something George thoroughly enjoyed.

“That’s not all I have to show you, follow me.”

George quickly finished the last of his mouth-watering muffin before scrambling out of bed to follow Dream while clenching the sleeves of his borrowed hoodie tightly.

“What is it?” He questioned genuinely as he came to Dream’s side.

Dream didn’t respond and George allowed himself to be led further into the house.

“You know I love you, right?” Dream suddenly asked, pausing at a worn wooden door, hand over the knob, “I’ve done this for you. I’ll always do it for you.”

George began to dread what he would see behind that door.

“Good,” He leant forward and gave a swift kiss to George's head, leaving him frozen in shock. 

“I-” Dream interrupted his speech with a tight grip on his hand.

“Come on, we can’t keep him waiting.”

_Him?!_

The door opened with a loud creak, revealing a wooden staircase leading down. George realized this must be the internal entrance to the cellar he’d seen outside.

Dream smiled shyly as he paused at the top, “I’ve never actually shown anyone what I do .But I thought I’d show you how I prepare my gifts.” 

With that, he switched the overhead light on.

“Hey! Who’s there?!” A young startled voice with a British accent called, “Why am I here?! I swear I didn’t do anything!”

George immediately grabbed Dream's arm, “You have a kid down there?!” He whispered.

“I’m not a kid! I’m 16!”

Dream turned back to George, “He was annoying me at the bakery. He wouldn’t shut up.” He leveled a glare at the boy in question, “So I thought this was a perfect opportunity to have you prepare a gift with me.”

“ _With_ you?!”

Dream scoffed, “Of course! It’ll be fun, I’ll show you how.”

“Now now fellas, we can talk about this can’t we?” The boy spoke from below them, “If you let me go now, I won’t tell anyone! They don’t call me Tommy Trusty for nothing, do they?” He sounded nervous.

George immediately ran down the stairs to face the boy in question, Dream hot on his tail. The boy was definitely young and lanky, he had wide blue eyes and blond hair that was matted with blood coming from an obvious head wound on the back of his skull.

Blood dripped onto his white and red shirt, blending seamlessly with the red sleeves but staining the white irrevocably.

“Smile, George. Don’t you like your present?”

George swallowed before turning to the boy, “Your name is Tommy, right?”

“Don’t ask that.” Dream scowled, interrupting the boy as he opened his mouth and giving him a glare to stay silent.

George only stared rebelliously into Dream's eyes, “His name is Tommy.” 

“So what?” 

“He has a life, a family, a place to go home to. How could you take him away from that?"

Dream snapped, “Don’t you like your present? I went to all this trouble in retrieving a brit just for you and now you’re _ungrateful_?”

“No!” George immediately repented, “I just- what are you going to do to him?”

“No George,” Dream smirked, “What are we going to do to him.”

George paled as Dream pulled an axe from the cellar wall.

“Woah there big man- don’t you think that’s a little sharp?” 

Dream smirks before forcefully handing the axe to George, “Of course, a dull blade would only make your suffering worse.” His eyes glint with untold madness.

George could barely keep a grip on the heavy axe without dropping it; Dream had made it look so easy. 

“Here, let me help you,” Dream said from behind him as he placed his hand over George’s to steady his grip.

George felt his arms being tugged forward. His wrist was turned, and suddenly, he was running the axe's blade lightly over the skin just under the boy's chin.

The boy, Tommy, began to panic, “Fellas, fellas, surely we can talk this out!” He tugged harshly at his bonds.

Dream smirked and pulled George’s hand backwards once more, swinging the axe’s blade up in the air before bringing it down on the boy's shoulder with great force.

This time, the blade sunk in deeply, seeming to only pause once it hit bone. Blood splattered against the fabric of George’s borrowed hoodie. The scream that followed would haunt George for the rest of his life.

_‘I only want to protect you.’_

_‘Only I can keep you safe.’_

_‘They’ll kill you if you don’t come with me.’_

_‘I love you.’_

_‘Just say it back.’_

Dream pulled the axe from where it was lodged in Tommy’s flesh, eliciting another sharp scream from the boy. With an almost sickening glee in his posture, Dream raised the axe above his head.

“Wait-” The boy cried out, “No-!”

George found his hand lurching out and encasing Dream’s own around his grip on the axe, halting his movement mid swing. 

Dream turned his head slowly to face George, the beady black dots on his mask staring him down.

“Are you trying to stop me, George?” He questioned dangerously.

“Dream-” George started, trying to ignore the pain-induced cries from the bound boy, “Dream you can’t just- you can’t kill- please Dream.” George could barely form a complete sentence with the fear coursing through his veins.

Dream slowly lowered his axe to stare at George, “What do you think will happen if we don’t kill him? What happens if we let him walk out that door?” He said, pointing at the cellar exit.

George shrugged breathlessly.

“He’ll go straight to the police, George.”

“No no no no- I won’t, I swear it-”

Dream cut him off, “He knows where we live-”

“I actually don’t-”

“He’ll let them straight to us- to you. If we let him live, we’ll be in danger.”

“But he doesn’t know anything! He’s just a kid!

“Am not!”

“SHUT UP.” Dream demanded suddenly, “One more word and I kill both of you!”

The silence almost choked George.

“Wait- George,” Remorse filled Dream’s voice, “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry.”

George hesitantly accepted the apology with a nod; Dream’s relief was almost tangible. 

“Now,” Dream started seriously, “We are going to kill him, and you are not going to argue. Am I clear?”

George nodded quickly in fear.

“Good.”

Dream pried the axe from George’s clenched hand and raised it above his head to deliver the final blow.

George closed his eyes. He couldn’t watch this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing against Tommy I swear.  
> Also, updates for this may be a little slower for a while as I have exams coming up, but I hope you enjoyed this one!


	5. Newspapers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For months now, George has been the obsession of a deranged serial killer. Every few days he finds 'gifts' in the form of bodies in his home and bloodied messages on the wall. To get away from this, George decides to move to Florida.  
> What will George do when the killer follows his obsession?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I have been studying for exams? Yes. Did I write this instead? Yes. Do I regret it? No.  
> All jokes aside, studying has been stressful so I wanted to take my mind off it and write something. This may not be my best work ever, but I still hope you enjoy!

George’s mind wouldn’t stop drifting back to last night. 

Every time he tried to clear his thoughts his mind would wander back to that room- that dark, grimy cellar where George had watched a young man die.

Now that it was over, he wished he’d done more. He wished he’d done more than just stand there in shock as Dream’s axe cut into his neck, but instead, he’d done nothing. 

It was all his fault. Tommy was dead and now George would deal with the consequences. 

In the sheer panic and adrenaline of the moment, George had fallen back to his old habits. There was a dead body at his feet- what was he going to do?

Of course, calling the police was completely out of the question- especially with Dream constantly watching him. So what option did that leave him with? Hiding the body. He would hide Tommy’s body just as he had with the countless other victims in the past.

He barely managed rip Dream away from carving his signature crude Glasgow smile on the boy's face before he began to prepare.

The process was almost therapeutic, he was more familiar with dealing with the aftermath than he was in the killing itself. But this time was different, this time he’d seen the victim alive. He wasn’t just a dead body. George couldn’t pretend anymore.

What happened after that George couldn’t erase from his mind. Every little detail was seared inside his brain and the guilt that accompanied it weighed him down so much that even while sitting on Dream’s couch, George didn’t think he could move.

Lost in his haunting thoughts, George didn’t even notice Dream joined him until he’d swung a possessive arm around his shoulders.

George jumped, causing Dream to chuckle.

“Did I startle you?” Dream wheezed with laughter.

George blushed a deep red before hesitantly nodding.

Dream cooed softly before pulling him in close to his chest. George allowed himself to relax as his body was shifted, the pair of them still had traces of blood on their clothes- but neither seemed to particularly care.

“I love you.” Dream said suddenly before planting a small kiss on top of George’s head.

George shifted uncomfortably, but remained silent.

Dream scowled, “I love you, George.” He repeated slowly. 

George only blushed as Dream pulled him in closer, almost choking him with the tight grip.

George shuddered, turning his face away from Dream’s. “I love you too, Dream.”

Dream loosened his grip and sighed happily. “Thank you, George.”

A content silence fell over the pair as Dream rested his chin on George’s head.

“Let me get you something to drink, yeah? I have a few packets of your tea left.” 

Dream didn’t wait for an answer before he hastily leapt to his feet and set off for the kitchen, leaving George on the couch alone and slightly missing the warmth Dream’s arms provided.

 _‘He’s so kind.’_ George tried to shake the thought unsuccessfully.

With the caring way Dream was acting this morning, George almost couldn’t believe he was the same man that he was with last night.

\--

_“Slow down!” George had screamed as Dream had sped through yet another red light._

_Dream laughed, “Calm down, Georgie. There’s barely anyone out here and besides, I won't crash with you beside me.”_

_George started at the stupidly sentimental statement, “This car isn’t even ours, Dream! Don’t crash at all!”_

\--

George laughed softly as he remembered the car. They couldn’t exactly hide a full body bag on the back of Dream’s motorbike, so they’d had to come up with something.

Dream had promised he’d return the car once they were done, but like most of Dream’s promises, it didn’t turn out as George had hoped it would.

\--

_“We need to find a secluded spot,” George started, nervously scanning the area after Dream had stopped their stolen car, “Like in a dumpster or under a pile of broken boxes in a side alley- somewhere it won’t be found for a while- and don’t leave any evidence!”_

_“Right…” Dream said skeptically, “Why did we have to drive all the way out here then? There's plenty of areas like that closer to home.”  
George rolled his eyes._

_“That's the point you moron. The cops won’t be searching anywhere near our area. They’ll have to comb the neighborhoods in this area for evidence first before moving on.” George paused to look Dream in the eye, “Never hide a body near your home, and never hide a body in the same place twice or in a pattern. That's what I learned from you, Dream. That’s what I had to learn because of you.”_

_“Aw... and here I thought you hid my gifts away so you could keep them all to yourself.”_

_“No I- just help me get the body.”_

_Dream nodded and looking around before smirking, “There should be a decent alley just a few buildings down from here. I’ll show you.”_

\--

It had gone pretty decently after that, Dream had managed to haul Tommy’s limp form into a nearby alley and together they had hidden it under some loose discarded material behind a fabrics shop. With any luck, the garbage truck would just pick the pile up and take it away without noticing, but George knew he would never be that lucky.

George fidgeted in his seat as more images assaulted his mind. He wanted to forget, to pretend this had never happened- that a certain blonde haired boy was still alive out there and shouting at some poor bakery worker. But he knew the truth.

As George shifted once more, a white flash of paper caught his eyes behind one of the dirty couch pillows. Any distraction would help him at this point, so with little thought, he slid his hand across the couch and plucked the paper from underneath.

A newspaper greeted his eyes, and with a quick glance at the date, George confirmed his suspicion. It was today’s. Why would Dream hide a newspaper from him?

George scanned his eyes across the headline: _‘Smiley-Faced killer in Orlando.’_

Oh. George didn’t hesitate to read the attached article.

_‘Two bodies appearing to be the work of the infamous Brighton Smiley-Faced killer have been found in the last 48 hours.’_

George swallowed nervously. So they’d found Tommy’s body already?

_‘Current investigations are focusing on the whereabouts of potential witness, GeorgeNotFound, in correlation to the murders of one BadBoyHalo, and now British tourist: TommyInnit who was found brutally murdered on a side street in Orlando today. In video recordings recovered from the first scene, a man wearing a mask was seen fleeing the apartment of one GeorgeNotFound. Unfortunately there were no signs of this mysterious man on any cameras in the surrounding area.’_

George couldn’t believe his eyes.

_‘George, if you’re out there, please turn yourself in for further protection.’_

Protection? What were they protecting him from? Did they sincerely believe that he wasn't involved with the murders?

Dream’s voice echoed in his mind: “ _They’re lying to you. Don’t trust them. Only I can protect you._ ”

George didn’t know what to believe anymore.

“What are you reading?” A sudden demanding voice startled him from his thoughts, “Give it to me.”

The newspaper was snatched from George quickly, and by the quickly reddening face of Dream, George could tell Dream wasn’t happy with what he saw.

“Where did you get this? Did I tell you you could read this?” His voice was dangerously calm as he clutched the mug of tea that was meant to be for George tightly.

“I- I don’t-”

“You don’t believe any of this crap do you?” 

Silence.

“You know what? No more newspapers from now on.” Dream set the tea on the table with a thud, allowing its contents to splash out the sides and angrily gripped the newspaper before tearing it to shreds.

“Dream!” George argued in protest as he watched the torn fragments of the newspaper flutter to the ground. That newspaper was the last connection George had to the outside world.

“What George? Aren’t you happy with what I provide for you? Don’t listen to them!”

“Why can’t I read the papers?”

“Because they’re lying to you George.” Dream quickly sits beside George and takes his hands in his, “But I won’t let them- I won’t let them seduce you with their lies. They won’t lay a single hand on you.”

“But why…”

“Why what?”

George struggled to come up with the words he had been meaning to say since the moment he met Dream, “Why are you like this?” George settled on, “Why do you kill?”

Dream remained silent.

“Why can’t you be normal?”

Dream slowly lifted his head to face George, “...Would you have preferred that?”

“Yes.” He breathed out.

Dream slowly reached out and pulled George against his chest, resting his chin on George’s head. 

“Well I can’t ever be like that. I refuse to.”

George quickly rubbed his sleeves against his eyes to dry his tears as he felt Dream’s head shift above him.

“You’re what changed me, George. You’re the reason I kill.”

The statement hit him like a ton of bricks.

“I killed for you.”

“...why?”

Dream smiled lightly, as if it were a happy memory, “Don’t you remember, George? That guy- back in Brighton. He was following you that night you were walking home. You were scared he was going to hurt you. You had to talk to your friends about it for hours afterwards just to calm you down.”

“Dream…” George stared in shock, “That was nearly a year ago.”

“What can I say?” Dream nervously chuckled, “I didn’t always make my presence known to you.”

George nodded slowly as he tried to wrap his mind around his new acquired knowledge, “What happened?”

“To the man?”

“Yes.”

Dream scowled, “Well, I got rid of him for you. I followed him back to his house and made him disappear. That was my first kill, George.”

George laughed loudly and suddenly, “So- so my stalker- stalked my other stalker- and killed him?” He giggled out loud.

“Well-” Dream looked surprisingly affronted, “When you put it that way… maybe?” A grin broke out on both their faces before they laughed together at the bitter irony. 

“But what about the others?” George asked once he had finally calmed down. “They never threatened me, why did you kill them?” 

Dream sobered quickly, looking embarrassed, “I guess I just… liked the feeling?”

George shot him an incredulous look, and Dream looked flustered before elaborating.

“It was like I was protecting you with each person I killed. If a person followed you home or even just cursed you in the street- I knew I was important to you because I could protect you from it.”

“Dream…” George shifted uncomfortably, “You didn’t have to do that- no. You shouldn’t have done that for me.”

Dream seemed to take that statement for gratitude, as he responded, “But I wanted to, George. You’re worth it.” Dream reached out and softly grasped George’s chin before kissing his forehead contentedly.

“You’re perfect, George.” He said with a mad glint in his eyes, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” George repeated immediately this time.

Dream eyes darted to George’s in awe, seeming to take in every detail of his face.

“I love it when you say that.” And before he could blink, Dream was angling his face towards George’s.

“Wait- Dream-!”

The kiss was short and sweet; lips lingering for barely more than a moment before Dream pulled away, leaving George dizzy. His lips were dry and chapped, but honestly George found it addictive.

“Woah.” 

“Yeah” Dream agreed, “Woah.”

George didn’t know when the tears started to roll down his face again, but he knew that as soon as they did, Dream had his arms wrapped around him in comfort, and in Dreams arms, how could anything he says be wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are appreciated! Thank you all for reading I love you all <3
> 
> Also! I have a shout out to one of my lovely friends [10Writing_Noob01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/10Writing_Noob01/pseuds/10Writing_Noob01) as today is her birthday!


End file.
